By John J Heartfield
Look at you
Walking on your pillows of money
A loose limbed tourist
In a border town
You think you’re safe
Behind your dark sunglasses
You better wear your dark sunglasses
When the sun goes down
‘Cause you don’t know these streets
The way that I do
You don’t know the trouble
A body gets into
You ain’t seen people turn
Like I’ve seen
You don’t know these streets
These streets are mean
You don’t know these streets
These streets are mean
Being hungry isn’t too far
From being angry
Being poor isn’t too far
From being proud
You think you can just say
Anything you want to
But anything you say
At this point is said too loud
‘Cause you don’t know these streets
The way that I do
You don’t know the trouble
A body gets into
You ain’t seen people turn
Like I’ve seen
You don’t know these streets
These streets are mean
You don’t know these streets
These streets are mean
Look at you
Walking on your pillows of money
You think you’re too well cushioned
To reach the ground
But look at the eyes
Staring up at your world
There isn’t a single dull knife
In this town